


Beware False Idols

by Vyvrik



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Grantaire Angst, Greek God Enjolras, M/M, POV first person-Enjolras, POV first person-Grantaire, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, and then Grantaire is a dick too, enjolras is a dick, sigh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyvrik/pseuds/Vyvrik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I didn’t think I wanted it, his devotion, not at first. But now I know that I did, I still do, desperately, I know that I need it, that I crave it, that I miss it, and that I want to return it, that I do return it, I do, I really do… </i>
</p>
<p>But Enjolras fears it might be too little, way too late...</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>Is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Created A Monster

**Beware False Idols.**

I can still remember the first day, I hadn’t seen him since he was a kid and I couldn’t help but still think of him that way when our eyes met across the room. He looked so shocked to see me looking at him, let alone acknowledging him, but hey, I know I’ve got a reputation to uphold, but I’ve still got manners, contrary to popular belief.

But looking at him, there was nothing of the kid I once knew about him anymore, that much I can readily admit. He was ready. He was all set, he had it all. And for some reason I seemed to make the decision then and there to quash it all out of him. I could see it in his eyes, the desire for approval, for acceptance… from me, from everyone.

_**...I was his idol, I was his god...** _

That information did things to my head, and I remembered how I felt when I was in his shoes, standing there for the first time, walking into a room full of strangers expecting something of me, knowing everyone was looking at me thinking the same thing, the same thing they were all now thinking about him.

I could’ve made it so much easier for him,

I could’ve reassured him,

I could’ve helped…

But I didn’t.

I almost revelled in making life harder. I don’t know why. It’s not like I felt threatened by his presence or anything… well not in the way you might expect. But I definitely felt threatened by something, I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I felt something stir deep within myself that day.

Something was attempting to rear its ugly head, and that’s what I felt threatened by, I know that now. But at the time I just stamped it down and set about making his life a misery. I mean yeah, I took him ‘under my wing’ so to speak, as in, I allowed him to stay, it was expected after all, of those of my ilk.

_**...I am your idol, worship me, I am your god...** _

I certainly didn’t do it out of the kindness of my heart, not at first, it was purely obligation. But when I realised how much he’d hang on my every word, watch me so intently when I was showing him something, ask me a million questions about anything and everything… he was just so enthusiastic and eager, not scared at all, not like I was when I was new, when I was in his shoes, and I think that’s what scared me the most.

That and the fact I was beginning to feel…

…things.

I can remember the exact moment I knew. Knew about him that is. At that stage I was still blissfully unaware of... hang on, I don’t really think blissfully is the right word to use in this context, but uh yeah, unaware definitely, of how he felt about… uh, me.

_**...I am his god...** _

And I found that out not long after… two and two always make four… you know? And I’m not proud of how I reacted. Looking back, I know now that it was out of relief… sounds weird huh? Well it was. Relief that it was me, that I was the chosen one… not that other person I’d thought it was after all…

It was the night he introduced me to her… to _her_... someone I completely misjudged… I knew all about her, obviously, he talked about her non-stop, and I knew how excited he was that she’d be joining our ranks at any time. And I knew they were close, I mean of course they were, they’d had all that working history after all, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when I walked in on them that day.

_**I am your idol. I am your god.** _

No, not like that. It wasn't like that.

_**You worship me. Me. ME GOD DAMN IT.** _

As soon as I saw them together I just knew, knew what they had. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t even doing anything, just sitting real close together, talking, laughing, intimate, that real easy camaraderie that some people are lucky enough to encounter with others… with him. The sort that has always eluded me…

But it was the way he jumped up when he saw me...

like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t,

like an admission of guilt,

like he feared he might have made me mad and that I wouldn’t speak to him again.

_**...he worshipped me.** _

He was always like that, to a certain degree anyway, I can’t really explain it, he was always worried about what I’d think, about my opinion… but this time, it was weird. He acted like I’d caught them fucking on the couch or something. The way he jumped up, his deep blue eyes wide and almost pleading, but then he sounded so proud as he introduced me…

Proud of who, I wasn’t sure… and that’s what got to me the most, because I wanted it to be me... yet I feared, with good reason, that it wasn’t.

_**... am I his god?** _

But they were both looking at me like they thought I might rip his head off, and to be honest I felt like I wanted to for a fraction of a second, until I questioned my own motives and found I had none... it was just the way he was looking at me… the way they were looking at each other…

I was jealous. So jealous.

I realise that now… benefit of hindsight and all… Anyway I shook it off and was positively charming, seething, but charming. I swear I was! And so were they, but I couldn’t figure out who it was he’d been trying to impress...

Well not until later when I was taken aside, my ‘rival’ essentially conceding defeat, telling me I had no idea how much all my help was appreciated and that my influence really meant something, really had an impact on both of them, but that she knew it was time to let go, now it was my turn…

I had no fucking clue what she was talking about at the time, I was stupid enough to think she was talking about work… it wasn’t until she started talking about modern gods, false idols and dreams come true that it all clicked into place.

That night was the first time I fucked him.

_**...I am his god...** _

I’d never done it before, not that, I'm not like that, no way, not me... but it was so easy. He just let me. He showed me the ropes, so to speak, and hey, I’m a quick learner…

_**... I AM YOUR GOD.** _

My name falling from his lips the moment he let go, the moment he gave himself to me, gave into me, the moment he came crashing over the edge, it was the biggest rush I’d ever felt in my life, such a sense of incredible power…

_**...WORSHIP ME.** _

Until I forgot myself completely, incapable of all control as I gave into him, gave myself to him, spilling myself in ways I never expected... and felt the biggest wave of instant shame wash over me that I’ve ever felt, pure and utter disgust with myself at what I had done. Not the deed itself, no, don’t get me wrong, at how badly I had treated him. It was like I'd only just realised, even though I'd always known.

Until this very day, I don’t think anything can ever surpass that. The guilt. But it didn't stop me. Being a prick I mean.

Because every time I thought about it, which I have to admit was a lot, I almost recoiled from the memory in horror, because I didn’t do that! Not like that... The very idea was absurd! I continued flaunting it in his face at every opportunity, just like I'd been doing before, something within me demanded it, that I show him how much I most certainly was

_not like that,_

_**...I worship you...** _

that _he_ didn't make me that way.

_**...you are my god...** _

And I strived to prove it too, I made sure he walked in on it as often as possible, to show him I was just leading him on, playing with him, toying with his emotions, because I could… so of course I would. Why wouldn’t I?

So why did I then string him along for the next two years?

_**Because I loved him too.** _

No because I could. He was just so easy. Because he let me. Because from then on, I knew I had a hold over him, and I milked it for all it was worth.

_**No really, I did…** _

I knew I could use it to my advantage, pretending to myself all the while that I was the good guy, the good Samaritan, doing my bit, giving the new guy what he wanted…

_What I wanted too…_

But in reality, what it actually amounted to was abuse. And he just took it all.

_You know what they say, love is blind._

It’s true. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, in fact, I often pushed and pushed to see how far I could go before he’d crack, just for the sake of amusement, how sick is that…

_**...he worshipped me... past tense.** _

I’d roll over as soon as I was done and pretend to be asleep, sometimes he hadn’t even finished yet, not that it took much, he only had to look at me in those days… but I wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence, just roll over and ignore him. Sometimes he’d pad softly into the bathroom and I’d hear him either finish the job or… I can’t even say it, I hate myself for this… but sometimes I swear I heard him cry… yet every time he’d just wait until he thought I was asleep and then curl up behind me, holding me… telling me he loved me…

_**...You are my god, I worship you...** _

And no one will ever believe this but I lived for those moments.

I used to force myself to stay awake until they came, no matter how long he took to come out of the bathroom, feeling his arm around me, his gentle kiss between my shoulder blades, only then could I relax and drift off peacefully.

No one else has ever held me like that.

I never told him how much it meant to me. And now I’ll never get the chance, because the time I finally rolled over to do it, he wasn’t there. He got up, dressed and left without even looking at me… I totally deserved it. I know that. But it didn’t make it hurt any less. The next night? The next night he didn’t even show up…

But anyway, no use dwelling on that, the point is, until then, he was relentless in his unwavering devotion.

_**...I was his god...** _

And that got to me, it really did, that he still wanted me, needed me, despite everything, that he could see through the façade, the flimsy charade… But unbeknownst to him, he actually managed to crack the surface, believe me I kept that well hidden… and piece by piece, the parts of myself I’d so desperately tried to repress, to hide from, they were escaping, slowly but surely, he was bringing them out of me, he was making me whole again… Again? Had I ever been whole to begin with? I don’t think so, but that’s beside the point.

He was making me be… me.

The real me, not the one I kept on constant display for the sake of… who exactly? I don’t know. And how can he even see me? I’m not really here, I've never been here... yet he found me somehow.

But despite everything, I still strived to keep it under lock and key, I had to, battering the little pieces of myself back down that attempted to rise to the surface every time I saw him, a smile here, a laugh there, that wasn’t me, I refused to let it be… replacing it with a sneer, a snide comment, a raised eyebrow, anything to conceal the fact that there might be real human feelings hiding in there under all the bullshit… but eventually, my resolve proved to be too strong for both of us, even he was worn down to the point where I guess he just figured he’d been wrong about me the whole time.

I don’t know if I can even pinpoint exactly when it started… or maybe I can, maybe I know exactly when and I just don’t want to admit it... can’t bring myself to deal with it, accept the guilt… Because I know it’s all my fault, deep down, I know I’m the direct cause.

I created a monster.

It’s funny isn’t it, how you can be so blind to things… things that are right there in front of you, practically screaming for your attention, but you find it so easy to ignore, happily going along, leading your blinkered existence, purposely turning a blind eye… and then one day it just hits you.

Like, I just suddenly realised, woke up, everything was so clear. My eyes had been opened, I wondered how I’d never seen it before. And it was amazing! I just wanted to grab the bull by the horns and run with it, embrace the light…

_...He wasn’t there._

I rolled over, I was so happy, almost floating, I wanted to tell him, so desperately, to pull him close, to hold on and never let go…

_...He was gone._

Or to be more precise, he hadn’t even come back. Because by then it was too late, the chance had long since been lost, I’d just never noticed, it had already slipped through my grasp, my fingers desperately attempting to clutch at straws as they disintegrated before my very eyes, there’s no point in even trying anymore. Not really.

Was there ever?

But that’s what makes it even worse, because there was, there was a point, once. It was all there for the taking, literally offered to me on a plate, he gave me so many chances, but I was too blind to see it… too stupid… too stubborn, and for so long. So fucking long. How could I be so oblivious? Okay, maybe I wasn’t entirely oblivious, maybe I just wanted to be. Pretended to be, I think a better term for it would be. In denial.

In total fucking denial.

Sometimes life is so unfair. It took me all that time to realise what I had, but by the time I did, I’d already lost it, because I hadn’t even realised how close to losing it I already was, so did absolutely nothing to stop it.

_**...I was his god...** _

I am fully aware I only have myself to blame, I’d been dangling the carrot in front of the horse for so long, I got so used it, the constant appeal for even the slightest bit of my attention, the pure and utter joy when it was given, that I just expected it to always be there, him to always be there… loyally following me like an adoring devotee.

_**...I was your god, you worshipped me...** _

And it was like that, for ages it was like that, it was my own nonchalance, my own total lack of respect that pushed it away…

…my own fear.

Because that’s what this is really all about. I was too fucking scared. I can see that now… I can even admit it. That’s a big step, for someone like me.

Well… for me.

It’s not in my vocabulary, admitting I’m scared, admitting I’m wrong… but I was, I still am.

I was so scared I couldn’t even bring myself to look twice in a direction not already paved out for me… the masterplan. I was only ever about the destiny, the cause, so why did I ignore it? Why did I throw it all away? Because I was too scared to look my true destiny in the face and accept it for what it really was, not what I expected it to be. What others expected it to be for me. I pushed it away, ignored it, and by the time I came to my senses… so had he.

_He was gone._

He’d moved on. And rightly so. I can hardly blame him. He’d waited on me forever, been so patient, so loyal. I took him for granted, I abused his innocence, his loyalty, his trust, I didn’t deserve it in the first place, not the way I treated him. I treated him like fucking shit. I knew it, he knew it, yet still he kept coming back, still he kept loving me.

_**...I was his god...** _

Why? I didn’t get it, I didn’t understand. I used to wonder what the hell was wrong with him… I should have been asking the same question of myself…

I didn’t think I wanted it, his devotion, not at first. But now I know that I did, I still do, desperately, I know that I need it, that I crave it, that I miss it, and that I want to return it, that I do return it, I do, I really do…

_**...I worship you...** _

But it’s too late, it’s gone, he’s gone. What the hell is wrong with me? I didn’t even try to stop him, it’d only fall on deaf ears, he wouldn’t believe me anyway, and why should he? He’d stare at me, incredulous, then laugh in my face, just like I did to him so many times when he dared to show any kind of human feeling in my presence.

Fuck.

I fucked up. I fucked up so bad and I know it, and I can’t fix it. That’s the worst of it, there’s nothing left to do apart from deal, take it like a man, grow up and face the consequences of my actions, just like I told him so many times. And he finally did. He’s only gone and done it…

and left me a drivelling mess in his wake.

_**...You are my god...** _

I mean going to sleep without him, that’s one thing, that was bad enough, knowing he just got up and left like that... And then waking up without him there, realising he hadn’t come back the night before, that hurt me more than I ever realised something I’d done so many times myself ever would, ever could, something I’d considered so unimportant, so menial… but it was a taste of my own medicine so who am I to even dare complain? He never did.

_**...he worshipped me...** _

But walking in the next day and finding him, finding them, on our bed like that… _our bed,_ that’s laughable in itself, I’d given up the right to call any bed we shared _‘ours’_ right from the get go… but I can’t deny how much it devastated me, seeing him like that, with _her_ of all people... _Her?_ Really? I just can't believe it. I feel completely and utterly worthless, I’m destroyed.

_**...I worship you, I still do... Always.** _

He has no idea I feel like this. It’s how I must’ve left him feeling so many fucking times. How could I have done that to him? Time and time again? He was always so sweet, so innocent, and yeah, cynical and sceptical to my face about every word I ever uttered, sure, but that was all just, a front, a charade, a ridiculous dance we did around each other in an attempt to, I don't know, something to hide behind I guess. What I do know is that I essentially beat all the goodness out of him and replaced it with, well… me.

He’s acting just like me.

Well, he thinks he is, but he couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve driven him to it, I know that. He’s acting the way he thinks I am, the way I’ve always been when he was around, the carefully cultivated way I thought it was best to be… but I was wrong.

_...So very wrong._

It’s not me. Not anymore. And I cringe at the thought that it actually was, and that he ended up believing it. The act became the reality.

It’s just the me I wanted people to see, because I was too gutless to be myself, to show my real face in public. I thought it'd make me look weak, having feelings, being... human. And it took him to show me that it didn’t have to be that way, how could he see it but I couldn’t? He was always so adamant about that, that there was more to me than meets the eye, that there’s something else underneath the mask, underneath the stone cold marble exterior… but I always did my best to prove him wrong, to show him that what you see is what you get, that this was me, like it or lump it. He asked me once what I was hiding from…

_I didn’t have the guts to admit that it was me._

I don’t think I even knew. Not then. He always had the courage to be himself, he was man enough to admit it. And to think that would’ve made me laugh not so long ago… him being man enough, seriously, I would’ve laughed, right in his face too. And you know what, the funny thing is, I wouldn’t even have meant it, I would’ve done it because it’s what’s expected of me.

And now he’s become the last thing anyone expected of him, a perfect little mini me.

Breaking hearts left right and centre, including mine. Especially mine. But he has no idea about that. And of course I’ll never tell him. Like I said before, he’d never believe me anyway.

And you know what the irony of it all is? The exact moment I realised the truth, was the exact moment he did too. Only our truths had changed. He no longer cared. The moment I gave in, he gave up. I could see it in his eyes. It was too little too late. But still I didn’t say anything, I was too blown away, I was still reeling in the revelation, I let him go without saying a damn word.

. _ **..I am no longer his god...**_

I’ve created a monster. In my own image. And I have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life, the one that got away, and I could’ve saved him. But I didn’t, and now it’s too late, all because I’m too gutless to tell him how I feel. I used to tell him to grow up, to be a man, face the consequences of his actions… maybe it’s about time I listened to my own advice for a change…

_**You are my god.** _

_**I worship you.** _


	2. ALONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire's version of events may differ somewhat, but Grantaire certainly isn't going to let that stop him from wallowing in misery about the whole thing.
> 
> Unintentional self-sabotage will not get you what you want, another lesson learned too little, way too late.

The tv flickers away across the room and I stare at it unseeing. Unblinking. My whole body alert with anticipation, straining to hear the sounds of approach, signs of life outside in the deserted corridor, any sounds at all. I listen hard to the silence, the expectation waning despite the promised words resonating around inside my mind, refusing to let me forget. Why is it I continuously seem to find myself in this position recently? Why am I allowing it to happen to me? My mind constantly churning, wondering, reasoning, disregarding my own excuses. I’m full of reasons why I shouldn’t, why I won't, why I can’t... 

Yet here I am. 

Waiting.

Again.

Still here. Always here.

I roll over with a sigh, telling my inner monologue to stop beating myself up over it. I stare out the open beige curtains into the inky blackness of the night, matching my darkening mood. I really should be anywhere else right now, but here I am again, same story, different day. 

The intensity of the stormy clouds distract me, occasionally illuminated by a fork of electricity lighting up the whole sky, and I hear the sound of a plane making its way somewhere overhead, temporarily drowning out the voice berating me in my head, and I’m glad I'm not on it, facing the storm head on. I’m glad I'm here instead, hiding away in my room running from my problems, pretending they don’t exist yet willingly staying, waiting for them to arrive. Like I know they will. They always do. I welcome them. Him. I welcome him. He is my problems. Plural. All of them. Yet still I wait. 

I welcome him. 

And so here I’ll remain until he comes.

Alone... again. 

Waiting... still. 

Wondering... as usual. 

Hoping... 

Always. 

The story of my current existence. So lame. I’m such a fool. I’m better than this, I know that, (or so he keeps telling me...) I’m living in denial, I know that too, (I tell that to myself.) In a fantasy land of constant expectation, anticipation... then constant disappointment, rejection, of being let down. Yet again. Of being used. Of being taken for granted.

Of being alone.

But it’s not intentional, oh no, of that I'm constantly assured and reassured, it’s not just a blatant disregard of my feelings, I know that much at least, or so I'm told, and I let myself believe it. Every damn time. I'm acutely aware of it. I know it’s harder for him. He has more to hide from, the face, the voice of his precious fucking cause, the voice of revolution. I'm more or less free, most of the time. I'm here with minimal intrusion, about as far away both physically and metaphorically as I can possibly be from his real life, the life he wants, strives for at all times, constantly reminding him, demanding his attention, it’s impossible to escape. 

(He's impossible to escape.) 

And I know that. That he has a life, a purpose, a cause. Meaning. Something bigger than me. Than him. It keeps me sane. Grounded. Makes me appreciate the effort. 

But I still can't help the thoughts that slide through my consciousness, (or unconsciousness, more often than not these days,) the feigned nonchalance at a promise unfulfilled, the constant keeping up public appearances of indifference battering my self-confidence, fuelling my insecurity, the hurt swallowed along with my pride, wanting to manifest itself in pointed words yet always refraining, never rearing its ugly head in a jealous rage like it does inside my mind. 

Not about that anyway, never about us, ha, _'us'_ , like he'd ever admit there could be such a thing. So I attack everything he holds dear instead, get right to the heart of the matter, that's my motto, hit em where it hurts, where he'll really feel it, (so I'll feel it later...) So I set out to systematically destroy every single thing he says, deconstruct every word, rip him to shreds. If it's one thing I can do it's to play my part, no one suspects a thing, certainly not from the cynical sceptic playing devil's advocate just for the hell of it. Because I love being the sole recipient of every bit of his wrath and fury, I crave it, I live for it, for him to look at me, to listen.

Because I'm desperate. So fucking desperate.

And I'm jealous.

Jealous. That was a turn up for the books, when I realised that's what it was. Not something I ever expected. And suddenly I had an inkling of how it must feel to be on the receiving end. The receiving end of my over-enthusiastic and unwanted attention, it must be too much to bear. There's me, waiting alone at home for him every night, no idea if he'll even turn up, paranoid and suspicious, head full of imagined scenarios of his destiny being fulfilled elsewhere as he changes lives with every breath he takes, every word out of his mouth... 

Giving people he doesn't even know the attention _I_ crave. 

_I_ need. 

Because I'm right here. I can give him something back, god dammit. But he doesn't want something back, because he's doing it for all the right reasons, the sanctimonious twat.

Who do I think I am, his fucking wife? 

Nodding at all his excuses, or lack of them, the arrogant prick, accepting everything he says knowing there is nothing that can be done to change it, knowing that there is nothing I will do to make it change, I will just sit here and obediently accept any scraps thrown my way, no questions asked, and be thankful for it. 

I realised I have become that person, some kind of fucked up ‘other woman’, so to speak, ridiculous as that sounds. Second only to every single other fucking cause he chooses to grace with his attention, second to every other aspect of his life. And that's fine it really is. I'm the dirty little secret, while he wears his heart on his sleeve and shows his true colours proudly for his most beloved mistress, so worthy of his time, his public declarations, his life, his love, all for her, his Patria. His bigger picture. I'm an afterthought, a means to an end. I know that. And it's ok. (Except it's really not. I'm not. I'm really not ok.)

Except I'm here. I feel like I'm his dirty little secret he'd rather pretend didn't exist at all, I'm actually here having to pretend I'm not what I am (which is nothing, who am I kidding,) in front of everyone, watching him play at life, while I'm pushed aside into the shadows as if I don't exist but all the while being witness to it, to the reality, his reality. Because it’s there, out in the open, free for all to see, how much I love him I mean, (and how much he wishes I didn't,) wishes he didn't have to deal with me, constantly interrupting, craving his attention, wishes I wasn't there. Nothing unusual, nothing to be ashamed of, keeping up appearances he tells me, the way we've always been. 

Although, I am ashamed of myself. I admit that. That's me. I'm the one hiding. But I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't change anything. Well, I’d change alot of things but I know it’s impossible, so if this is the way it has to be, then so be it. Better than nothing. Right? It’s just how it is, so we work around it.

And I'm okay with it, I really am. (If I repeat it often enough I might start believing it...) But sometimes it just gets too much. And I wonder if it’s really worth the effort. Like what’s the point? A few stolen moments here, a night there, it's a means to an end, it’ll never amount to anything more, it’s not like we’re (I'm) holding out for circumstances to change, for the time to be right... the time will never be right, nothing about this can ever be right. Nothing more can come of it. And I know that and yet I carry on. I'm a glutton for punishment. Oh who am I kidding, I'll take whatever I can fucking get, any minuscule sliver of his time, I'll take it, I crave it. It is what it is. Which is nothing much really. I don't even know how it started, not really, or why. 

Madness. 

And alcohol. (On my part anyway,) Because the initial situation, well, I can’t even remember. I know I was definitely slightly, just slightly, inebriated. Miserable, bored. Lonely. He was too, (he must've been, drunk I mean, it's the only explanation, he'd never have been in such close proximity to me otherwise.) Apparently it's lonely at the top you see. (So he tells me.) 

And so it began, an accidental drunken fumble gone wrong, okay maybe not so accidental on my part at least, (and maybe not so drunken on his... I really don't know, I've never seen him drink that much before or since, liquid courage?) but anyway, there was definitely a fumble, accidental, that went on longer than the drinking did somehow, drink forgotten as it became more important than that... maybe we (I) realised it was better at dulling the pain, the combination of the two easing the ache of loneliness, of life. 

Because you couldn't have one without the other. (Well I couldn't anyway.) The drink was the incentive, the courage, and the excuse. The mutual gratification the goal. The closeness. The company. The shared secret, the deceit. It was exciting. I think it was for him too, at first. He got off on the power trip at the very least, he was always well aware of the effect he had on me. But like anything else it became routine, and routine can become careless, risk becoming visible. 

And so it began. 

The waiting.

The fucking _hiding_...

And occasionally it gets to me. Like all the effort is in vain. Because maybe there’s a hopeless romantic buried deep inside of me and I wish it could be more than that. But I have no grand delusions, (which are different to delusions of grandeur, by the way, in case you were wondering,) so yeah, I know the score. And sometimes I think it really is all worth it after all... 

Besides, resistance is futile. 

I'm not even sure I can remember when it all began. The feelings I mean. My feelings. It was such a long time ago. It wasn't like it was one of those things that hits you BAM like a shot between the eyes, like you know instantly... (Who am I kidding, it was _Enjolras,_ I mean you have _seen_ him, right? Can you blame me?) At least if it was, it took me a long time to recognise that's what had happened to me, because when I did realise it freaked me the fuck out (because it was _Enjolras_ ...) and I retreated as fast as my legs could carry me. What can I say, he scared the fuck outta me. With hindsight, it probably was pretty instant... but I was so blind to such a foreign concept that the thought didn't even enter my head, I dunno. 

What I do know, is that we most certainly did not hit it off, not one little bit. It was odd really, because I felt like I knew him already, we had such similar upbringings and experiences that we probably would have actually got along in other circumstances, but instead we just instantly didn't understand each other at all. He never accepted me for who I am right from the start, instead, he was forever trying to change me. And I knew that he would never like me just the way I was. That never happened. Not to me. Everyone in my life has always seemed to have some totally unwarranted and fully-formed preconception of me, and I feel like I'm forever trying to earn their trust, their respect, trying to impress all the right people... 

We weren't even friends, Enjolras and I, not for a very long time, (what am I saying, we're still not,) all we ever did was argue, (and fuck.) I just never noticed that over time it had become anything other than that for me. 

Something more. 

Alot more. And it took me even longer to realise what it was. 

Imagine my surprise when I found out... I mean, seriously, if you had told me way back then, four years ago, that my world would be turned upside down and I would become infatuated, obsessed, in _unrequited fucking love..._ with a guy, I'd have not only laughed in your face but also knocked it clean off your head. 

I mean, really? _Really?_

Most of the time I still can't believe it myself, despite being acutely aware of it every second of every day... and you know how people would react if they found out, they’d never believe it, that he would ever stoop so low. No, never, people who know us would literally laugh in disbelief if they ever found out about it, about us, (us, _us,_ I always feel like such a fraud using _us_ as if implying some kind of combined version of the both of us as a whole, as a united front, because it'll never mean something as significant as that.)

I still don't believe it, despite having experienced him first hand... his heart’s not in it, just his dick. Put it this way, I didn't do anything about the way I felt for literally years, I let it eat me up inside and drive me slowly insane rather than risk the humiliation of rejection. That's how little I expected him to ever act on it. And I'm fully aware he only ever did out of pity.

So, needless to say, you can imagine my dilemma when I first realised what had happened in my stupid little fucked up brain.

Love, ha! 

( _Love?_ Me? Really? Nooo, I scoff at the very thought of love, I laugh in love's stupid pathetically smug face. Take that _love,_ you utter life ruining bastard.)

I was confused for awhile, ages actually. I found myself thinking about him all the time. So then I started wondering why I was thinking about him and catching myself before I mentioned him... and I realised how often that happened. Which was a shock in itself.

So then of course I was questioning myself, but still found myself making excuses to talk to him, (well, argue,) just be around him... I felt like I had to watch out for him, I knew how hard it could be for the son of a successful father in the public eye, (*uh, not that anyone else knows that about either of us, and I'll thank you to remember that,) but I just wanted to be there for him I guess, if he needed someone... Everyone needs someone, sometime, right? 

(He never did. Well not me anyway.)

When I first saw him, _heard_ him, and realised I could see that every single week if I turned up to the meetings, I just about jizzed in my pants. I thought it’d be brilliant, getting to be near him all the time, maybe working with him… (arguing with him, as it turned out,)

I was wrong. 

So fucking wrong. 

Not from anything on his side, no, he was never anything but perfect. Always so intimidating, so unattainable, standoffish, never anything but the bare necessary curt politeness towards me, and that’s what made it a million times worse. I fell more for him every fucking day, to the point where I could barely speak to him, look at him, I couldn’t handle it at all. I couldn’t function. 

Have you any idea how fucking difficult it is to have to be around the person you’re so fucking in love with? It’s impossible, and it fucking sux. Especially when he’s nothing but amazing all the fucking time, he totally just comes off like some arrogant prick, which I hate to admit gets me off to the point I'd clam up with minimal words, too enamoured to talk, or drink myself into excessive oblivion enough to argue with him until the cows came home and ramble on some nonsensical diatribe just to get him to fucking _look_ at me, knowing I look like a jerk yet doing it anyway despite my brain screaming ACT FUCKING NORMAL YOU COCK!! (Pathetic much? Ugh.)

But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t be around him anymore than I had to be, so I was always pretending to ignore him half the time, (I wasn’t of course, I was watching every fucking move he made like some crazy stalker and could recite every word he said verbatim,)

It was hard having a secret like this in the fucked up overly-dependent-on-each-other world that les ami inhabit. I was internally combusting with having no one to talk to, until Eponine. She somehow figured it out and accosted me outside the Musain one night after a meeting, I instantly crumbled and told her everything like a dick, and she became my rock. I did start to get a weird feeling after awhile though, that everyone just naturally assumed that _we_ were together even though, obviously, we never were, ha, laughable. It must’ve been hard for her, she seemed to take on this mantle of being my secret-keeper, and she seemed to feel the need to cover for me, though I never asked her to, and we kinda just fell into this routine where she would crash at mine or vice versa whenever her dickhead ex didn't show up after work (again) and Enjolras didn't give me the time of day (again)… but it wasn’t fair, I wouldn’t let her keep her life on hold like that, especially when she had a possible chance at love with that new guy Marius who started turning up. (Yet somehow everyone still thought she was my girlfriend…)

Anyway… if it wasn’t already bad enough just seeing Enjolras every now and then before, now it just seemed to get really out of hand, he started turning up every damn night, full of excuses and secrecy, I was so freaked out, what the fuck was he playing at? But at least I still had Eponine to talk to, to freak out with, to confirm things my eyes refused to believe they were seeing and alert them to things they needed to see. But without her I was lost. I was going insane. My awkwardness around Enjolras in public increased tenfold and Eponine would ring me after work and question me over every little thing, he really was getting worse, it wasn’t my imagination afterall. And it went on for ages. The way he used to touch me, in public, I could’ve died and gone to heaven each and every time, and I think he knew. He must’ve seen how I reacted. I didn’t mean to, it was completely involuntary, I just couldn’t help it. Sometimes I could’ve sworn he did it on purpose, I could see it in his eyes, that knowing look… was it just to make me squirm? Or was there more to it? I have no idea. He never said a word. Not a fucking word. 

...

I reach for my phone on the bedside table, checking the time before dulling the light instantly as footsteps approach outside. I roll away from the door, feigning sleep, not wanting it to appear as though I've been waiting. As though I'm desperate. (Although I am.) I stew in silence at the time I clocked, fury simmering just beneath the surface as I hear him shed his clothes and feel the bed dip as he climbs in beside me.

“I’m sorry,” he kisses the back of my neck, snaking an arm around my waist and scoots in to wrap himself around me, “I couldn't get away,”

“You never can,” I murmur bitterly to myself, why did he have to go and get himself so heavily involved? He is going to get himself killed one of these days, I know it, he knows it.

“It’s not like that,” 

He heard. Shit. He assures me relentlessly, but I'm not sure who he’s trying to convince more, me, or himself. I'm jealous. I'm aware of that. It was a rude awakening the first time I realised but I'm used to it now, the way it eats me up inside. I go home feeling empty every night and promise myself I won't crack under the strain of keeping it to myself, how much I love him. He doesn't need to know. Yet every single time I see him again I give in, I get closer to telling him, to breaking down and confessing all in a pathetic loss of any remaining dignity. I know I have no right. But I can't stop myself from feeling like that, like I just want it to stop. I just want the feeling to go away... It's all in my head I know it is. I think I'm beyond figuring out if drowning my sorrows over it is a hindrance or a help.

So for some reason I find myself shrugging his arm off. I hear the words coming from my lips as though from a stranger far away, 

“I’m asleep...” 

I could practically hear the stunned silence as I felt him freeze beside me, then slowly pull away. He was still, I could barely hear him breathing and I wondered why he hadn't left. That's what he usually does. I figured he’d just wait until he thought I was asleep then sneak back into the night, it’s not like he was ever there in the morning anyway. I finally drifted off with only my own fantasies to keep me company, their cruel fingers repeatedly hitting the play button to replay the perfect images laying dormant in my subconscious on rotation to remind me of what I could never have, oh woe is me... 

(Melodramatic much? Who me?)

Then all too soon I could feel myself awakening, it must've been hours later, a discontented moan on my lips, an involuntary sigh as I exhaled, rolling over onto my stomach in an attempt to fend off consciousness. I felt a cool draught tickle the length of my spine as the sheet slipped lower, my back arching against the sensation as I raised my arms, burying my face in the crook of one elbow, the other disappearing under the pillow as I groaned at the half awake state slipping from my grasp. I felt the flutter of the crisp white sheet slide further, lower down the curve of my ass as I adjusted my hips, accommodating what lay beneath and pressing harder into the soft mattress in that state of blissful semi-consciousness that exists just before full awareness descends. I felt a moan escape my lips as I prised them apart, confused as I felt the mattress dip beside me, accompanied by the soft rustle of the cheap cotton. I froze, goosebumps following the trail of a cool finger down the sleep heated skin of my back, drawing me further into full consciousness although it felt like a dream, and I opened my eyes, arching into the touch despite the cacophony of alarm bells instinctively warning me to flee. I rolled onto my side, the movement no doubt defensive, despite my body craving the touch it had dreamt of relentlessly throughout the night, allowing it to pull me closer without any resistance, hot breath tickling my cheek, my lips... 

I turned further away as he whispered my name, the remnants of last night’s empty bottles assaulting my senses and I fought down a wave of nausea as he licked along the shell of my ear, whispering my name so enticingly, and I knew I’d give in, I could feel it rising within me to succumb... 

I wanted him, of course I did, but more than that, I wanted him to want me, and right now, he did. I relished the opportunity to have him administer this kind of tenderness, it was such an infrequent occurrence that I didn't want it to stop. I wanted to enjoy it, but more than that, I wanted _him_ to enjoy it. I also wanted him to fucking work for it. To work for my attention for a change. Even if he only wanted it to get his end away... 

As that thought hit me, any sense of indulgence left in an instant, and before I knew what I was doing I was on my knees, facing him in fury.

"You want me now? Now huh? When it suits you Enjolras? When you don't have anything else to do? Nowhere else to be today?"

My hand was around his neck and I forced him down face first into the mattress, ignoring the fleeting glimpse of confusion I saw in his eyes and barely registering the struggle taking place beneath me as I straddled him from behind, something rising like bile from within me, manifesting itself in the power he was letting me wield... I suddenly understood how he got off on it, my hand moving around to envelop the back of his neck and keep him in place as I drove forward without warning. I knew it was the first time, I knew he was freaking the fuck out, but the roar of pure pain that I ripped from his body only served to spur me on and I couldn't find it within myself at that moment to be apologetic in the slightest, let alone care. I was lost in the rhythmic slap of skin as the strangled whimpering below me diminished and blood rushed through my ears. He grew silent below me, and I was so immersed in the moment that at first I didn't recognise the change in him, I didn't notice the pained cries gradually become panting gasps for air, I didn't notice him holding his breath as my hand moved from his neck to embed my fingers in his hair and forced his head back towards me, a handful of golden curls pulled taut, still having the audacity to practically glow in that translucent light of a new dawn. That fucking bastard.

But then the sound he made as the change in angle drove me in deeper is something I’ll never forget, along with the sight of his body shuddering underneath me as he shot his load all over the bed. I’ve never felt so accomplished in my life, and I haven’t come so hard in months. The sight of my cock plunging deep between the perfect globes of his ass as he contracted violently around me was enough to send me into an incoherent mess, and I pounded into him furiously, slumped forward over his back, biting down hard into his neck as I drove relentlessly into him before coming to a shuddering halt, sporadic spasms wracking my body as I filled him from within. As soon as I could breathe I pulled out, rolling over away from him, discarding him, and pulling the covers up to signal I was done as he lay there stunned. 

Maybe he’ll finally see how much I let him get away with... and what I'm capable of, and how much I give in to him, give myself to him... He doesn't see me the way I want him to and he never will. He takes me for granted, as a guaranteed fuck, and I let him. I'm so weak. He knows how I feel about him and he uses it against me, the power he has over me has gone to his fucking head and I'm powerless to resist him. Because I rely on him too... I need that constant in my life, to remind me of what I can never truly have and how lucky I am to have what little he gives me. He’ll never feel the same, he’ll never understand, he just indulges me, he indulges me because he feels sorry for me and gets off on it.

So now here I am.

Alone... yet again. 

Waiting... still. 

Wondering... always. 

I was slowly going mad. 

I had to get out of there, after what I'd done, losing control like that, I had to escape. 

I didn’t even tell anyone, I just stopped going to meetings altogether. Enjolras looked at me funny for a long time after that whenever he (bizarrely often) casually ran into me at the Musain or the Corinthe when I was hanging around drowning my sorrows and waiting for Eponine. And Combeferre was glad to be rid of me from meetings, I could tell, for awhile he'd been increasingly looking at me with these really disappointed eyes. I think he’d figured it out, judging by his reluctance to go anywhere near me these days and the weird looks I caught him giving Enjolras too. I assumed Enjolras felt the same way Combeferre did, had figured out how I felt I mean, cos he’d gone all quiet too. Not that I ever gave him the chance to actually talk, let alone explain, and not that I’d ever have asked, I just fled instead. I needed to be free. I needed to avoid finding out that he agreed with Combeferre (if he in fact had figured out how I felt) because that really would’ve just broken me completely. I didn’t need to _actually_ know that Enjolras hated me, for real, you know? 

And this way? Well, it was a clean break you see, I could be a whole new me. And I was. It was as though Enjolras had never even existed, (not really) and I finally felt free, (I wish.) Eventually, I managed to completely avoid him and I think he wondered why, but I couldn’t have it any other way. Not now, not once I'd decided, not after what I'd done. 

All or nothing I guess. It was just easier that way.

...

It had been a while, over a month, there was no going back, the end had long since come and gone, it was just up to me to realise it and stop waiting around for something that was never going to happen.

But then it did. Yet another beep ignored on my phone, a knock at the door. But this time I opened it, I never really expected it to be him.

We stood there, face to face for the first time in days, not knowing what to say and unsure how to proceed.

“I deserved it, I know that...” 

I can't deny I was taken aback by his words, to the point where I didn't even have a response for that. It was the closest thing to an apology I'd ever heard from Enjolras. He scratched the back of his neck, toeing the floor and biting his lip, eyes downcast, not like himself at all, looking nervous, like he thought something was expected of him... 

(But I learnt a long time ago that if I didn't expect anything then I wouldn't be disappointed...)

He looked up at me briefly, eyes darting around the corridor on either side of him as he stood awkwardly in the doorframe, 

“I had this plan...”

“Enlighten me, please.”

“I wanted to apologise..." he trailed off, not meeting my eye, scratching his neck again and running his hands over his face, for the first time in existence I noticed he looked, less than stellar...

“Well get on with it then.” What was I saying, I was caustic, what the hell was wrong with me?

He looked up at me finally, unmistakable hurt flashing across his face, imploring me to see what he was getting at as he seemed to struggle, like just saying the word apologise verbally had rendered him incapable of further speech, 

I nodded slowly, “Yeah ok... and... uh, good plan?”

“Grantaire...”

"It's ok," for some reason I just cut him off, I don't know why, I was just too fucking tired to deal with his shit right then, I was over it, I was done, "I get it, really I do, I know the score, it's fine."

"It's not fine, I..."

I raked my own hands over my head in exasperation, “Well what do you want me to say? If we're ending this formally then great, half arsed attempted apology accepted, you've done your bit, well done Enjolras you made the effort, that counts for something right? So you can go now, have a nice life Apollo," 

"What, wait, I haven't even... Grantaire I... Look, it's unforgivable, the way I've treated you, let me explain..." 

"Seriously, don't bother, I mean, it’s just... you. It’s just what you do.”

“But it’s not. Not anymore. I mean I can understand why you’d think that... but it hasn't been for a long time, I just... I didn't realise...”

“Didn't realise what? Fucking spit it out for fucks sake, do we have to prolong the agony any further?”

“ ...? ”

“Just tell me already!”

“I'm trying! Just stop it ok, shut the hell up and listen to me, please, stop being so fucking defensive, you drive me insane with your constant self deprecating bullshit,"

"Fuck you."

"...but you think you're right, don't you, about me I mean, you think you know me, how I roll, you think I felt sorry for you, that I thought I'd indulge you, I've just been using you, etc etc, that's what you think, right?”

I nodded slowly, shame washing over me as the words were said out loud,

“So I... It’s just... I couldn't... I just don't understand you, Grantaire, but I want to.”

“And? Is this going somewhere?”

“What I didn't expect was for it to actually happen. And I... I only just realised. It took me this long, but I finally realised.”

“Realised what?”

"IthinkthatmaybeImightIdunno,beinlovewithyou."

I think I didn't breathe for a whole minute, “What?” 

“I'm in love. With you. I think. And I think I... that I’m okay with that.”

It took a moment for it to sink in, what he actually just said, I was stunned. 

“Get out.” 

I cringed, dying inside as the words left my mouth, barely a whisper, just waiting for him to laugh and say haha only joking, how could I be so stupid as to ever believe that? What a stupid thing for him to say, I was furious with myself at my reaction as much as I was at him, and I couldn't even look at him as I stormed over to the door and yanked it open, 

"Get the fuck out," I was seething, on the verge of tears, "I can't deal with this right now. You don't get to just say things like that, how dare you come over here and say that, you just come into my house and fuck with me like that Enjolras, fuck you, get the fuck out!"

"Grantaire...?"

"I'm done."

So that was that.

 

Anyway... 

Everything always started and ended with Enjolras, it always did for me, and this started so long ago that I can barely remember a time before it. I’ve loved him for so long now that it can never be anything other than a fantasy, a story in my head. Does that make sense? The reality can never live up to the dream. Like, have you ever wanted something so bad yet then when you finally get it you find you don’t want it anymore?

Either because you’ve outgrown it, changed your mind, or it wasn’t quite what you expected, what you thought it would be… or how about cos you never really expected it to happen in the first place and actually quite liked how it was in your head, because in your head the fantasy version didn’t allow for real life considerations to get in the way, it was perfect cos it was just an unattainable dream and you knew real life could never compare… because real life has too much other stuff to contend with. But in your head there’s only him. 

It’s always been only him. 

And believe me when I say I certainly never expected, even wanted, him to reciprocate my feelings. Okay maybe I did at first, right back before I even knew him, but that was a long time ago, and a lot has changed since then. 

So here I am...

Waiting... as usual.

Alone... again.

Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Any votes for a reconciliation chapter? 
> 
> I've been sitting on chapter 3 for ages and am stuck! Any thoughts?


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